Send My Love Back Home
by spacecraftlanding
Summary: When Aubrey moves from her small Minnesota town to The Big Apple she knew it would be different, but she couldn't have imagined the busy streets, tall buildings, aliens, gods, Avengers, and a small 24 hour shawarma shop would consume the farm girl. And no way would she have moved if she knew where her choices would lead for the fate of humanity.
1. Chapter 1- This is it

"This is it."

Aubrey Blake stood before a dark green door with a dangling gold 8 and the shadow of a missing 6; her new home. It was noisy, it had been since she got off the plane. Even now she could hear the bustle on the streets from the eighth floor of the apartment building, or maybe the sound was just echoing in her ears. She adjusted her large duffel bag, feeling it's full weight after climbing eight sets of stairs to this point. She could not wait to take it off her aching shoulder, but she would have to wait until someone answered the door.

"Might help if you knocked." Came a voice from behind Aubrey, startling her enough to drop the duffel from her shoulder.

"Oh." She muttered, reaching up to allow her knuckles to rap gently next to the dilapidated eight.

"No ones home."

Aubrey turned around as the voice made their second comment, this time with more mirth. The voice belonged to a young woman leaning against the opposite wall of the small hallway, next to a door labeled "87" in gleaming attached numbers.

"Aubrey Blake, right?" she asked, giving the girl a once over.

"Yes," Aubrey replied holding out her hand, to which the girl simply raised a shapely brow, "are you Jenny, or perhaps Sam?" Aubrey asked lowing her outstretched hand.

"Sam," she responded, knocking Aubrey's shoulder with her own,, "and you're blocking the door. I'd like to get in to my apartment."

Aubrey moved with many apologies, grabbing and dragging her duffel from the doorway as she did. Sam laughed in amusement before grabbing the duffle from the floor.

"First rule of New York farm girl, never say you're sorry. Second rule," she called behind her as she walked through the doorway, " never do anyone any favors." Sam dropped Aubrey's bag just inside a dark room to the right, "and third, never drink my soy milk."

Aubrey stood in the doorway, her attention focused on her new roommate's actions, so different from how she expected her welcome to go, before she was snapped out of her silent shock by a sudden, but gentle push.

"Get the hell out of the doorway, what were you raised in a barn?"

"Well, we had a barn but I lived in the house. But I get your meaning." She stepped further into the living room, letting her eyes roam over the mismatched furniture and empty takeout boxes.

"I'm just a little in shock. New York is so different from Minnesota. Things are so big and loud. I'm still getting use—"

Aubrey's musings were cut short by a sudden harsh bang of wood against wood. Turning in the direction of the sound told her that her new roommate was not in fact in the same room as her, and most likely did not care to hear of her first experience in a new place.

The silence now seemed deafening, as if by closing some doors the apartment had effectively removed itself from New York and all its bustle. It made the hair on her arms stand on end in a new and unfamiliar discomfort.

"Guess I'll just get to unpacking." Aubrey muttered to no one, mostly looking to fill the void of quiet that had consumed the living space. She headed into the room in which Sam had dropped her duffel and turned on the light.

It was small. Smaller than what she thought 100 square feet would feel like. Smaller that what the pictures on the website had shown. Hell, it was smaller than her closet back home. The walls were a simple off white, bits of poster still clung to leftover tacky spots missed by the previous tenant and the twin sized mattress leaned haphazardly against the far wall with no bed frame in sight.

"Definitely not like the picture." Aubrey groaned, anxiety setting itself upon her shoulders. Maybe it was a mistake, leaving the comforts of home for a far fetched dream of something more. She kicked her duffel with more force than intended before crouching down and beginning to unpack.

The first week had been rough no doubt. Aubrey was burning through her savings twice as fast as she had expected, not accounting for how expensive things would be in New York. She also wasn't having much luck finding a job. Turns out, magazines and newspapers did not care for fresh out of college journalists whose biggest stories were about prize winning butter sculptures at the State Fair or soil acidity and it's effects on last year's crop yield.

"Expand your portfolio." One interviewer had told her, "we have superheroes on every street corner. These kind of pieces," she gestured to the binder before her holding Audrey's life work, "would never sell."

A few more had suggested similar pieces of shitty advice before sending her out the door. More had simply told her they were not interested, without giving her a chance to speak for herself. The most recent interview for an online based food blog, had ended with the interviewer, a good-looking, casually dressed man no older than herself, literally laughing her out of her chair and back onto the streets of New York. She managed to make it a block and a half before the tears came.

"God damn it." She muttered, keeping her head down as she passed uninterested commuters, not wanting to be the woman this place was making her to be. She was damn talented at writing, having kept journals since she could write coherently and joining every grade school club that gave her the creative outlet she craved. She believed in herself enough to enroll in college under a journalism major, instead of the veterinary path her parents had wanted for her, so she could help them run the farm. She had done well enough to be offered a spot in the Pioneer Press, a popular newspaper company based out of St. Paul, and it made her think, just maybe, she would be good enough for something bigger than two cities over from where she had lived her whole life.

"Idiot. Fucking idiot." She growled, refusing to blink the tears out of her eyes, so it was her fault alone when she collided with an immovable object that sent her and her binder to the dirty sidewalk.

"I am so sorry, are you okay?" the hard object shouted in surprise above Aubrey, whose tears had finally fallen with the force of her fall. Embarrassment filled her stomach with a small ache as she hastened to pull herself up.

"No, no it was all my fault. I should have been watching where I was going—oh," she interrupted her own apology with a start as she felt a warm hand encircle her upper arm as she was pulled to a stand, it was the first friendly touch she had felt since the flight attendant had placed a comforting hand on her shoulder during a string of turbulence on the flight in.

"I think we are both guilty of not paying attention then." Aubrey watched in stunned silence as the immovable force bent down and picked up her portfolio from the ground between them. Before rising to hand the binder to it's owner.

Aubrey couldn't help but stare, even though she knew it was impolite both my New York and Minnesota standards, but the man before her was simply gorgeous. He had felt immovable, it seemed, due to his tall muscular physic which could not be denied under the plain blue shirt and brown leather jacket. Under the man's baseball cap rested a face just as strong as his body, with a chin seemingly cut from marble, and blue eyes framed with a strong brow, currently furrowed in concern. It was only then that Aubrey noticed how long it had been since her binder had been offered, and the items wrapped in tin foil gripped in his other hand. She quickly snatched the binder, holding it to her chest as if it could somehow prohibit a blush from forming on her cheeks.

"Thank you," she managed to say, finding it hard to look the man in the eye after her continued embarrassment. She almost hoped the ground would open up beneath her and save her from any more humiliation she could bring to herself on the way home. "I've never heard a New Yorker apologize before. I forgot what it sounded like."

If not for the laugh her comment had elicited from the man's full lips, Aubrey might have thought herself royally screwed for making such a sarcastic seeming comment.

"What can I say, I am old school." He replied with a shrug and a laugh for a joke Aubrey didn't think she was meant to understand. She shifted uncomfortably as his laughter settled into a deep look somewhere in the distance. Was this the time to leave? Would it be more rude to walk away now or later? Should she say goodbye?

"Well I should go"

"Want to grab some lunch?"

Both had spoken at the same time, resulting in more uttered apologies from the two of them before the good-looking man spoke again.

"Oh, I understand if you have to go but…" he raised the hand holding the mass of tin foil, "if you're not busy right now, this place has great shawarma. And I'd like to show you New Yorkers have some hospitality."

Aubrey glanced at the food before finally meeting the man's eyes.

"What is shawarma?"

"Come on, I'll show you. My name is Steve."

"Nice to meet you, Steve. I'm Aubrey."


	2. Chapter 2- You are my prey

Asgard was abuzz with celebration, for what many did not know for they only cared for the flowing ale and upbeat music. The crowds gathered within the halls of Valhalla danced and sang, and a large crowd was gathered around two warriors in a playful battle with decorative swords in one hand and flagons of ale in the other. The warriors slipped comically slipping on spilled ale, bringing more to the flood with each clash of the swords.

The halls of Valhalla shook with the force of thousands of happy Asgardians, at least on the surface. There was one lone god, held imprisoned far below in the Asgard Dungeons below the palace floors, and he was in no mood for any celebration. A particularly large rumble traveled down to the subterranean cells causing the god of mischief to glance up from his book in exasperation.

"Imbeciles." He muttered, though there was little malice behind the insult. He was, quite frankly, tired. He had been imprisoned for the better part of a year, though for an Asgardian, the time had felt closer to a month. Either way, Loki weak and alone, and he found without the presence of others it was hard to produce real ire.

Loki's life in this cell, life without ire and hatred, well it was all rather boring. He returned to his book briefly before another violent rumble cascaded down, closer this time, and louder. The activity pulled his interest more than the book in his hand. He placed the tome gently on the table before rising from his cot. He ran his hands down the front of his simple shirt, bringing the illusion of life and color to the dull green fabric. Gold thread trickled from his long fingers to elaborately hem the edges of the shirt. In a calculating move he leaned casually against the clear wall of his cell and crossed his arms and ankles ready to glare menacingly at the drunkards he knew would barrel through the large dungeon doors.

Occasionally, in their inebriated stupor, visitors of the palace would make their way down to see Loki, the former and now disgraced son of Odin. Loki did enjoy it each time. It was immensely entertaining watching them stumble about attempting to insult him, to win some sort of 'battle of wits' that always end in a victory for Loki and his silver tongue.

This lot was taking their time and Loki was beginning to loose patience. And they were a quiet lot, usually Loki could hear them shouting from down the hall, or laughing with the guards before opening the door. Loki uncrossed his arms and stood straight, feeling the hair on his neck stand on end. Something was happening, something different, and Loki was unprepared for what could be coming for him. He stood ready and trained his ears to pick up any sounds outside.

"Wha-" came faintly, the thought cut short by a wet gurgle. Loki recognized the sounds of an armored guard falling heavily to the stone floor.

Instinctively Loki let a wave of invisibility role over his body, but before the illusion could be completed the heavy wooden doors to the dungeon were forced apart sending them into the stone walls with a shudder. A flash of silver passed through Loki's vision and pain blossomed from his side. He barely had time to look down at the arrow that had pierced his side before another pierced his shoulder. Loki heard the glass wall of his cell shatter and collapse to the floor as he felt cool liquid flow through his body from his wounds making him dizzy and his eyes feel heavy. Loki stumbled and would have fallen onto the broken glass below him if not for the hand gripping his throat holding him upright. His vision blurred and his mind panicked as a dark, hooded figure swam into view. The hand squeezed harder as the figure spoke.

"Loki Laufeyson, I am the huntress and you are my prey."

Another black hand came into view with a pulsating purple orb suspended above the being's palm. The orb was tossed behind Loki and the room was filled suddenly with a strong wind. Loki willed his tired body to bring a hand up in defense or to turn his eyes to focus on the details of his captor's face, but he could not.

In his last seconds of consciousness he could feel himself thrown down to the floor that swallowed him whole and heard parting words whispered in his ear.

"You won't be able to hide for long."


End file.
